And I did. I always thought Lily was the outsider, and I was the real daughter, so I gave her everything I could, even hiding treats to share with her.
I never imagined I was the outsider all along.
I stood there laughing and crying, then made up my mind. Later, I yanked strands of Ryan’s and my mom’s hair, plus my own, and called an Uber to the hospital.
When the results came back, my heart sank into an abyss.
I wasn’t my mom’s biological daughter—Ryan was.
So all the unfair treatment I had endured made sense.
When Lily was sick with a fever, my mom slapped me bloody for “not taking care of my sister.”
When Lily didn’t finish her school assignments, my mom blamed me.
I had thought it was grief over my father’s death that made her so cruel.
But no—it was because I wasn’t her real daughter.
Stumbling out of the hospital, dazed, I lifted my head and froze.
Across the street stood a woman who looked strikingly like me, tears in her beautiful eyes.
In that instant, I knew—I was looking at my real mother.
The woman stood across from me, tears welling in her beautiful eyes. She wanted to speak but in the end said nothing.
At the coffee shop, she told me how I had gone missing.